thinning out
by grigori souls
Summary: it's never as good or as bad as it seems.—haruka, shintaro. or, how to hate yourself while losing your virginity: shintaro kisaragi edition.


cross posted to tumblr (epros) and ao3 (glueskin). warning for sexual content.

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Haruka's looking at him with a sort of reverence, eyes bright, skin flushed pink, his tacky green cardigan hanging off his shoulders and his uniform unbuttoned enough to show that lovely, lovely curved collar bone and the reddening bruises that cover it.

Shintaro feels disgusting. Haruka is so good, so kind, and he deserves so much more than someone like Shintaro, who is bitter and sharp and hates himself so much he can barely get out of bed in the morning. But Haruka makes something in his ugly, apathetic heart ache not unpleasantly, and the way he's staring at him now—swallowing thickly and shaking as he watches Shintaro stretching himself out, fingers knuckle deep in his own ass, the cold, wet sensation of the lubricant making gooseflesh rise across his arms—makes his face burn hotly.

He's done this a few times, at home, by himself—never with anyone watching, never did he think anyone _would_. But Haruka doesn't look away. He keeps watching with something like hunger and fascination, and Shintaro can hear his own heart pounding in his ears as he tries not to make noise—he doesn't want them to get caught, after all, even if there's barely anyone at school by now.

"H-How much longer, Shintaro?" Haruka asks him, breathless as he wets his lips with his tongue. He looks like a starving animal, and the comparison makes his stomach churn with heat. He looks so _good_, disheveled and barely holding himself up against the desk, pants slipping off his hips and mouth swollen.

"Just a sec," He gasps out, voice more raw than he intended.

Shintaro should be fine. He wants to hurry up, too, so he pulls his fingers out from himself with a gross, wet noise, wiping his hand on his discarded jacket as he reaches for the condom in his bag.

Shintaro tears the wrapper open with his teeth, since that's apparently supposed to be sexy—Haruka makes a low noise in the back of his throat at the sight, trembling as Shintaro pulls at his uniform trousers, past his thighs and down his legs until Haruka barely has to shake his legs to get them off.

Haruka looks as embarrassed as Shintaro feels, when he slides his gaze down to his—friends? Classmates? Boyfriends?—dick. It's around the same size as Shintaro's own, maybe a bit thicker, curved towards his stomach and somewhat to the side, skin red and veins prominent with arousal.

He wonders what it would feel like in his mouth, how it might taste, and Shintaro swallows down those thoughts for another time, stepping forward to roll the condom carefully down Haruka's erection. He'd actually had to watch some videos online for a visual of _how the fuck to put a condom on_, and he's so, so grateful his mom and sister don't use his computer.

Haruka groans at the contact, hips jerking a little, and Shintaro tries to control his own breathing as he kicks off his boxers and pushes himself upward, climbing onto Haruka's lap. The surface of the shoved-together desks is unpleasant beneath his knees, but Haruka's got it worse, since he's on his back.

"Shintaro," Haruka gasps out, staring up at him as he straddles his waist, "Please, please, I can't wait—"

"Be quiet," Shintaro hisses a little, "Or we'll get caught." Haruka's lips thin with the effort of keeping quiet, Shintaro positioning himself and holding delicately onto Haruka's dick as he settles himself downward.

His breathing comes in sharp, but the pain isn't bad—it's the weird feeling of being stretched that causes more discomfort.

Shintaro's good at being quiet, biting into his own tongue when he has to, but most of the noises he makes when he masturbates are quiet gasps. Having a dick in his ass is obviously different, but he manages to choke back any noises he might make, staring down at Haruka—who practically writhes beneath him, throwing his head back and _moaning_, the pale, pale flesh of his neck staring up at him. Shintaro wants to ruin him, wants to dig his teeth into his pretty skin and _suck_, wants to leave bruises and bitemarks that will last weeks, wants the whole goddamn world to know that he's brought sweet, kind Haruka Kokonose to his knees.

And he feels fucking disgusting for it, for wanting so much, for wanting to make Haruka dependent on him, for never wanting him to look at anyone else with the same reverence and longing that he does Shintaro. He's so pretty, so perfect, and he wants someone like _Shintaro_, who's nothing more than dirt. Shintaro doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as Haruka, yet here he is, riding his cock.

Haruka won't shut up—Shintaro's just settled on him, just barely started moving at all, and he won't stop gasping and groaning. He really is going to get them caught, and as much as Shintaro likes hearing Haruka stutter out his name between breathless moans, he'd rather not have to explain why they're having sex in school.

So he moves one of the hands he had settled on Haruka's shoulder, and when the older boy blinks up at him with watery eyes, he slides his fingers passed those soft, parted lips and into the warm wetness of his mouth. Haruka's eyes get even wider, opening his mouth a bit more, and he tries to say something—but it comes out muffled, saliva spilling past Shintaro's fingers and down his jaw and fuck, _fuck_, he looks so good like this.

Whatever Haruka tried to say must not have been a complaint, because his tongue slides against Shintaro's fingers, sucking against them and scraping his teeth—it feels...not _good_. It feels like someone sucking his damn fingers, but it doesn't feel _bad_—it just is, and it looks—

It's one of the hottest things he's ever seen.

The feeling of weird discomfort is starting to pass, so Shintaro rocks his hips, making Haruka moan again—a muffled, quiet sound that leaves him drooling against Shintaro's hand.

Shintaro's breath catches in his throat, and Haruka grips at his narrow, bony hips so tight that he can feel his nails dig into his skin. Shintaro doesn't care. He's never felt so _good_, hasn't felt so alive in years.

He remembers everything he's read, everything he's thought about, using his one unoccupied hand to lift himself slowly off Haruka's dick. He makes a low, whining noise of protest in his throat, the sound vibrating against Shintaro's fingers, but then Shintaro sinks back down abruptly and his eyes practically roll back, legs jerking under him.

He's so fucking beautiful, Shintaro thinks. Takane will never get to see Haruka like this—nobody will. Shintaro wants to keep this all to himself, and though there's a persistent guilt festering in the back of his mind—after all, he's just _using_ Haruka, isn't he, to feel alive again?—it's so easy to ignore in favor of the pleasure that wracks through his body every time he grinds his hips downward.

Haruka keeps choking and gasping against his fingers, his pretty mouth gaping and chin wet with saliva, and Shintaro makes out what he's saying—_Shintaro, Shintaro_, over and over again. His name, like a mantra, a litany spilling out of his throat. His eyes, still so wide, so glossed over with pleasure, looking only at him, as if Shintaro is the most important thing in the world.

He wonders—how can someone like Haruka look at him and see anything but trash?

But now isn't the time to dwell on that. Shintaro shifts against Haruka's pelvis, shoulders hunched as he rocks his hips—he'd been slow, at first, but now he's used to it, so he goes harder, and each time he does Haruka's lashes flutter against his pale, pale skin as fingers muffle his desperate noises.

He shifts himself down at a particular angle, teeth digging into his tongue with the effort it takes to keep quiet, when Shintaro sees white creep at the edge of his vision, Haruka's dick finally rubbing against his prostate and making him swallow back a moan loud enough that Haruka notices—

and he smiles against Shintaro's fingers, carefully filed nails digging into Shintaro's hips as he shifts his own to help him get that feeling again, that explosion of dizzying pleasure that has him tasting copper with the effort it takes not to shout.

"Shintaro," Haruka tries to say around his fingers, voice strangled as his hips keep moving in the same motion, cock rubbing up against his prostate continuously in a way that makes him want to sob, "I'm, I'm going—"

He comes with a start, biting down on Shintaro's fingers painfully—but he doesn't care, because it's _Haruka_—as he does, hips stuttering as he chokes and gasps and Shintaro groans in his throat at the feeling of it, pulling his hand from Haruka's mouth—bleeding slightly, teeth marks denting the thin flesh, covered in spit—to wrap around his aching, leaking erection.

It only takes a few quick, rough strokes before he's coming too, all over his hand and stomach, Haruka sucking in deep, shaky breaths as Shintaro rides out his orgasm.

Shintaro can barely feel his legs, and it takes effort to push himself off of Haruka, moving to wipe his dirtied hand on his jacket—but Haruka reaches out and grabs at his wrist, breathing shakily as he brings it towards his mouth—Shintaro doesn't realize what he's doing until Haruka is already licking the semen off his skin, which is _disgusting_ and _erotic_ and isn't it supposed to taste awful?

But Haruka doesn't seem to notice or care, dragging his tongue along Shintaro's filthy skin and sucking at his fingers, never looking away from him as he does—his eyes are dark and hungry despite everything they just did, and heat stirs its way back into Shintaro's abdomen as he tries to ration his breathing.

When he's done, he lets go of Shintaro's hand, smiling and licking his lips as if he's just had a satisfying meal. And Shintaro realizes his face is hot, too hot, so he busies himself with wiping his hand dry and pulling his boxers and uniform trousers back on.

"Shintaro, that was really good! I didn't expect that when you said you wanted to talk alone! Since you always get so anxious when I kiss you! Can we do this again?" Haruka is too cheerful about all this, too happy—how can he be in such a good mood after doing something like that with someone like Shintaro?

But he says, "Sure," his voice hoarse as he watches Haruka pull his pants on from the corner of his vision. The dirty condom was tied and discarded into the trash, some loose pages of Haruka's sketchbook crumpled and tossed in as well to cover it up.

Haruka beams at his reply—a confirmation of a _next time_, and Shintaro feels disgusting for reasons unrelated to the sticky feeling in his ass and the way his hair keeps clinging to his forehead with sweat. He's an awful, horrible person, and Haruka will see that soon enough and move on—with Takane, probably, and the thought leaves something bitter rising in his throat.

When they're both cleaned up and slightly presentable, clothes straightened out and any evidence of their actions hidden away, Shintaro heads to the door first, but Haruka catches his hand—the same hand he'd shoved in Haruka's mouth, the same hand he'd swallowed semen off of—in his, still smiling that gross, happy smile, something soft in his eyes that makes Shintaro want to curl up and die.

"Can we walk home together today?" Haruka asks, tone hopeful. "I, I know you usually don't want to, when it's just us, but there isn't really anybody here now, and—"

Shintaro opens his mouth to say no, that they should walk home alone, going their separate ways, but what comes out is, "Yeah, whatever."

Haruka looks like he's about to fall over from happiness, clutching Shintaro's hand tightly, and even though the door is open and they're standing partially in the corridor, Haruka bends down to kiss him—quick, chaste, leaving an uncomfortable heat in Shintaro's chest.

They go home.

There is no next time.


End file.
